Page 92 of The Pirate and the Pagan
“Thank you for asking me, Lil, but I’ll stay in London, I think, or perhaps I’ll move to Court.”
“I’ve inside information that Court is moving to Salisbury for the duration. If they do, I’d advise you to move with them, darling, Salisbury and Southampton are within spitting distance.”
“I’m sure as soon as cold weather arrives it will stop the spread of this filthy disease,” said Summer, repeating what was said at every gathering lately.
Lady Richwood took all her servants and naturally they traveled in her carriage, so Summer would have to hire chairs if she planned on going any distance. The house seemed deserted and she couldn’t help feeling she was rattling around in it aimlessly, even after they’d been gone only an hour. Her practical nature soon took over, however, when she realized she would need food. The day seemed overcast, so she slipped on her pattens in case of a downpour and walked toward Piccadilly, where she knew there were shops to fill all her needs. She chose a cookshop where the food was already prepared.
Inside the cookshop all was in an uproar. There was something tangible in the frantic air which she soon learned was fear. The man and woman behind the counter spoke in shrill agitated voices to their customers.
“Last day, lydies … the shutters are goin’ up the minute we’ve sold the last tripe ’n trotters. Droppin’ like bleedin’ flies around ’ere. Did ye see the cornet in the sky last night? An omen of doom if there ever was one!”
The minute the man stopped talking, his wife began. “The butcher put up ’is shutters yesterday … dead today! They had nine children … all lived over the shop … bowled down like ninepins.” Some of the women waiting their turn quickly left the shop. When it was Summer’s turn, all they had left were meat pies and pickles. The woman behind the counter wiped the sweat from her face with her apron and took Summer’s money. As she glanced out the window a look of horror crossed her face. The woman crossed herself quickly. “Christ Almighty, look at that … the death cart’s come in broad daylight!”
Summer wished she’d never come; in fact, she wished now that she’d left London with Auntie Lil and the servants. The cart stood at the butcher’s door; its driver rang a big hand bell and shouted, “Bring out yer dead, bring out yer dead.”
The cookshop proprietors and the last few customers crowded about the window in horrified fascination as the little bodies were brought down and chucked into the wagon. Summer knew she was going to faint if she didn’t get away. She pushed through the small avid crowd and bolted through the door to gulp fresh air. London’s air today, however, was anything but fresh.
A pall of smoke hung about from the chimneys and from street fires which had been lit to destroy plague-contaminated furniture. She tried to hurry, but the pattens hampered her badly. She stopped, leaned against a wall, and unfastened them from her shoes, then she began to run and didn’t stop until she was behind the door of the house in Cockspur Street.
It was like a nightmare. Why hadn’t she left with Lil? Her throat felt dry and sore and fear rose up in her to rob her of coherent thought. Ruark Helford was to blame for her plight. He should have told her he loved her and taken her home to Cornwall after he’d made love to her last night. Instead he’d beaten and alienated poor Spider and given her another ultimatum. Now she was going to die of the plague and her precious burden would die with her.
She shook her head to rid it of such appalling thoughts and took the food into the kitchen. She looked at it with distaste, thinking she would never be hungry again. As she climbed the stairs her legs felt weak and shaky and she knew she must lie down or fall down. Well, it would serve Lord Bloody Helford right … when he arrived tomorrow, she would be dead!
She had caught the plague. She staggered off the bed to look at herself in the mirror. Her face was scarlet as if it had been boiled and she was hot as fire. She fell back upon the bed, her fingers frantically searching her groin for the black plague boil which would swell up like a balloon and burst. She sank into oblivion. Later she swam up out of the blackness, feeling herself being lifted, but she could not open her mouth to protest. She could not even open her eyes and she knew with horrified certainty they thought she was dead. They carried her out to the death cart and she could not lift a limb in protest. Her mind screamed in dread at her horrific plight. Stop, please, I beg you, her mind screamed, but no words came. Children’s bodies were being thrown on top of her, and suddenly, shocked by the hideousness of the act, she found her voice and cried, “Stop, please, I beg you!”
“Cat, sweetheart, wake up,” a very worried voice urged.
Her eyes flew open and stared into those of Black Jack Flash. She clutched him about the neck. “Rory … oh, my God … Rory.”
He held her against his heart and stroked her tumbled hair. Her body trembled uncontrollably. “Cat, sweetheart, you were having a nightmare.”
Her face was wet with tears. “I … I don’t have the plague?”
“Of course not, the devil himself looks after sinners like you and me,” he said, laughing down at her.
She clung to him thankfully. He was her savior. Gradually she relaxed against his powerful chest and murmured, “Rory, thank you. I’m so glad you came.”
“What happened to my brave little hellcat? Where have all these fearful, fanciful thoughts sprung from?” he gently chided.
She sighed in his arms. How gentle he could be; how sweetly understanding. In that moment she felt so secure in his strength and his good nature, she felt she could tell him anything. Her voice was very low with a slight hint of apprehension as she said, “I’m going to have a baby, Rory.”
“That’s wonderful, darling,” he said, clasping her close and pressing his lips to the curling tendrils that framed her brow.
“Perhaps you won’t think so when I confess that I don’t know if you are the father, or if it’s Ruark’s,” she said low.
For a long moment he didn’t speak and she eased her cheek away from his shoulder and looked up at him. He smiled down at her. “That makes no difference to me, love, and I’m damned sure it will make no difference to you.”
“Oh, Rory, you can’t mean it, surely every time you looked at the child, you would have doubts.”
He put his fingers beneath her chin and brought his face closer to hers. “Do you think me incapable of loving my brother’s child?” he asked seriously.
She knew in that moment he was a very special man. She lifted her mouth to his and was amazed at the tenderness he showed her.
“Come sail away with me,” he tempted. “London is too foul a place for you at the moment. I’ll take you to France and Holland,” he coaxed.
Her eyes opened wide. “I thought we were at war with the Dutch.”
He laughed. “We are, but I fly any flag I please, remember?”
